Loki's Clutter
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: Yes, it's a collection of random Loki drabbles and oneshots. Various pairings, all rated T and below, various genres. You knew it was coming.
1. Freya

Disclaimer: …Of course I own Loki. Yeah. Masako Moonshade is really a pseudonym for whoever really owns it. And if you believe that, I'd like to sell you this cow that gives chocolate milk.

AN: Yep. I'm pretty sure that it's a rite of passage for Authors on this site to write tons of unrelated drabbles and stick them into the same story. So, since I feel like it, I shall become a true Fanfiction Author! And for reference, this is based loosely off the real myth behind Freya's necklace (I love snooping about mythology). In the Norse legend, it's Loki who steals it, and Heimdall is the one who chases him, fights him, and eventually wins it back and presents it to her. Though I doubt it would ever happen, I fully offer my support. Please don't shoot me.

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Heimdall glanced over with some interest as Freyr fumed. This in itself was a unique sight—he was usually such a cheerful god.

"Curse that wretched Loki…" the oddly dressed deity grumbled, accompanied by some incoherent nonsense from his mechanical boar. Heimdall raised an eyebrow.

"Did he give you a bad pastry or something?" he mused.

"No," Freyr snapped. "He's seducing my baby sister! The villain!" At this, Heimdall nodded.

"He's completely wrong for her," he said knowingly.

"He's irresponsible!" Freyr added indignantly.

"Immature."

"Perverted!"

"A real lowlife."

"Completely inconsiderate!"

"Foul tempered."

"And absolutely untrustworthy," Freyr concluded, somewhat appeased by their combined list of the Trickster's shortcomings.

"I would never act so irresponsibly," Heimdall nodded sagely, a slight, cheerful thought entering his somber head.

"Exactly! _You_, my friend, are respectable!" Heimdall glanced at Freyr.

"So I've got your blessing?" he mused casually. His roommate stopped short.

"For what?" he asked.

"Freya _is_ still available, right?"


	2. Phobos

Disclaimer: I don't own Loki. In fact, I wish I didn't own this scene, either...

AN: The idea behind this has been bugging me forever. Loki and Mayura, dangling form a bridge. Dunno why. But I had to do it. I may post the second part of this (I hate it to death, though) but I may not. I want to get your opinion.

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He tried not to look down—when necessary, he glanced at her, but only her eyes. Just to make sure she was still holding on.

"Everything's going to be okay," he growled through gritted teeth, though he wasn't sure _how_. E-chan wasn't anywhere near, nor were Yamino or Fenrir. Not even her father. And here he was, clinging to the edge of the bridge with one hand, while the other clutched Mayura's wrists helplessly. It was impossible to climb up. "Just…grab my waist, okay?"

No response.  
"_Grab it, Mayura!"_ in his urgency, he glanced down again, and this time he forgot to lock his attention elsewhere. He saw her face—pale as a sheet, pale as death, her grip on his hand nearly limp and numb. And behind her, the roaring, rushing river, swollen and hungry and ready to swallow them both forever. He felt the color drain from his face.

"Just…hang on…" he managed to say, though his voice lost too much of its command. He wasn't even sure whom the order was for. The steel and concrete of the bridge bit into his hands, and he realized too suddenly that he was shaking.

"…Loki?" he heard a soft, frightened voice say. Again he forced himself to look down. Her face was still white, but recognition had finally sparked in her eyes. "It's…it's really you, isn't it?" He forced his eyes back up. The dark, friendless sky was more welcome than the surging water below him.

"Yes, it's me," he said, his adult voice likely holding an alien amount of depth to her ears. "Are you okay?" Slowly, he could feel her grip tighten on his as she began to crawl from her state of shock. And no wonder—the fall alone would have been enough to frighten most people to death, let alone seeing her 'little friend' age ten years in an instant. It wasn't as though he'd had a choice. His child's body didn't have the strength to pull her back to safety…though his larger form hadn't been much more of a help. The transformation had unbalanced him, and both of them had been left dangling helplessly over the river.

He blanched and forced his eyes on the moon. The stars. _Anything_ but the water.

"You…you're really scared, aren't you?" Mayura asked tentatively. Pride and all else thrown aside, he nodded his head. She tightened her grip even more, though not in the same, desperate way in which he held her. "Me, too…" she murmured. "But it's going to be okay. We'll get out of this…"

Was she honestly trying to comfort him? Her voice was shaking—she must be crying—a quick glance told him he was right—and yet she was trying to comfort _him_.

_Ah, the irony._

"Just…grab my waist," he said again, his voice calmer, his hand bringing hers closer to his stomach. She made a slight sound of affirmation, and he felt her arms wrap around his middle. His hand, now free, reached up. He dug his fingers into the concrete of the bridge, tried to pull himself up, his every muscle straining as he tried to lift their combined weight…his palms were wet. Water? Blood? Sweat? He couldn't be sure. He couldn't think at all. He was now scrambling madly, trying to regain his slipping grip.

"Loki?" Mayura squeaked from beneath him. "Loki, what's going on?"

"I've…almost…argh!" His fingers closed on gravel, and he plunged back, the ledge fleeing from his hands.

For an eternity, they fell, the night torn by two desperate cries that too quickly blended into the roar of the river.


	3. Phobos, Part II

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

AN: ...I kinda forgot about this part. Posted by request by my friend Kya, who has been commenting on my sadism lately. Note, please, that I didn't like this segement nearly as much as the other. This one takes place immediately after the other.

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"I've…almost…argh!" His fingers closed on gravel, and he plunged back, the ledge fleeing from his hands.

For an eternity, they fell, the night torn by two desperate cries that too quickly blended into the roar of the river.

The water struck him like a hammer, and dragged him down, down, into the depths. Panic surged through him in a lethal electricity, and he kicked madly, fighting to reach anything that feigned kinship to land. His exhausted limbs became leaden, and all his terror could make no progress against his steady sinking. He cried out in fear and frustration, but foul tasting water filled his mouth, flooded his throat, burned at his lungs.

_I'm going to die_, he realized, and once horrified and cruelly calm. _I'm going to die…and so is Mayura._ His panic returned a hundred fold, and again he struggled, his eyes open against the stinging water, searching through the darkness and murk for another figure. Something grabbed his hand, and for a moment he thrashed against its hold—but it became suddenly cold, abruptly exposed to icy wind.

_Air!_

Those same hands grabbed his shoulders and heaved up, and this time he obeyed. His head cleared the darkness, and for a few moments, he hovered blindly at the water's edge, expelling everything that had forced its way down his throat.

"Are you okay, Loki?" Mayura spluttered from beside him. He opened his eyes to stare dumbly at her. Still reeling from his fear of the water, it took another few moments to realize why he was still floating. Mayura was clinging to him, churning the water beneath them while he sank. He clung to her like a child, his panic all but consuming the once demure god. He was shaking violently, his teeth clenched so hard that he feared they would shatter. A warm, comforting hand smoothed his hair.

"You'll be all right, Loki," Mayura whispered to him, her voice only half heard through the river's cry. "Just come with me."

She held him close, directing him as they swam, speaking to him gently to soothe his fears. Slowly, slowly, they escaped the river's greatest pull, and crawled to its shore.

"Loki, look," Mayura murmured as they stumbled from the water.

In the east, the sun was rising.


End file.
